"Better make that a double; I'm going to see Die Hard: With a Vengeance."
I was sitting in a darkened theatre on Saturday, munching handfuls of popcorn, when suddenly the entire tradition of movie popcorn struck me as absurd. In Brooklyn, so much as whispering through a movie would probably get me punched in the face, but I am allowed to eat the loudest, smelliest snack possible a mere two feet from another patron’s head, and no one is allowed to say anything. I think this revelation was spurred mostly by the fact that we were watching the dismal and quiet French film Amour (spoiler alert: unhappy beginning, unhappy middle, unhappy ending, followed by me extacting a sworn statement from Jason that he would never smother me with a pillow, diapers or no), but even so, I couldn’t help but consider the weirdly powerful love affair between celluloid and popcorn. After all, potato chips and corn chips and pretzels have the same salty-oily-crunch factor, and though those snacks are more popular in virtually every other venue (including the realm of house cats), cinemas are the domain of popcorn alone.
Apparently, like any number of romantic pairings, the match between popcorn and movies began because both parties were in the right place at the right time. The portable popcorn popper and the nickelodeon were bright young things together in the late 19th century, and it didn’t take long for popcorn vendors to start parking their carts outside the theatres to take advantage of the crowds. Later, the popcorn moved inside to boost theatre profits during the depression. Not even war could tear the two asunder: sugar was rationed during World War II, so candy disappeared from concession stands, but the War Department gave the official go-ahead to theatres to continue to serve popcorn.
In my lifetime, the most significant movie popcorn development came in the 1990s when a study came out that told us all that popcorn was definitely, definitely bad for us. I distinctly remember a USA Today diagram that graphically demonstrated how much more swiftly a tub of movie popcorn would kill me than a mountain of Big Macs. Frankly, it didn’t seem to hurt the popcorn business all that much, leading me to believe that it was just one more happy coincidence in the love story. As Americans, we love the concept of maintaining our personal freedoms, particularly if it involves the risk of life and limb. Lacing an already guilty pleasure (buying a movie ticket when you could totally wait for Die Hard: With a Vengeance to come out on VHS) with a hint of actual cholesterol-laden danger? Sounds like a recipe for success.
So…far be it for me to stand in the way of true love. For all of you at BAM cinema for the Saturday matinee last weekend: thank you for the strange courtesy of overlooking my crunching through a French meditation on death. But next time, really, do your part. Go get your own.